


Workshy

by cassie_black



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Community: hd_glompfest, Fluff, Getting Together, M/M, Pining, oblivious boys
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-18
Updated: 2018-08-18
Packaged: 2019-06-29 03:30:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,190
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15721074
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cassie_black/pseuds/cassie_black
Summary: Draco is more than just a 'perk of the job' to Harry.





	Workshy

**Author's Note:**

> This fic was written back in 2014 as a 'Glomp' for the lovely Nenne. I'd forgotten all about it until I saw someone rec it the other day!

"Did I mention my granddaughter, Martha, is coming to visit next weekend?"

Harry is halfway through bagging up Mrs Morrison's order before she begins her monthly ritual of matchmaker. It can't be that she's ignorant of his sexual preferences – there isn't a person in Britain unaware of that thanks to the _Daily Prophet_ and Rita Skeeter's poison pen. But apparently she believes her granddaughter's oft mentioned beauty is such that it can overcome trivial matters like orientation.

"You must be looking forward to it." Harry counts out the required number of shrivelfig into a jar and smiles warmly at Mrs Morrison. Mostly they're a wholesale supplier nowadays – Hogwarts and St Mungo's are two of their biggest contracts – but Neville had been keen to retain the smaller, more personal service that _Verdigris_ had begun with, and Harry thinks he was right. He likes the interaction, even if this is the result.

"It's been almost three months since she was here last." Mrs Morrison digs deep in a jewelled bag before extracting her purse. "Can you believe it?"

Harry can. He vividly remembers the awkward visit. Unlike her grandmother, Martha had been painfully aware of where Harry's preferences lay, but much as they had both tried to ignore it, Mrs Morrison's matchmaking had reached outrageous proportions.

"It'll only be a fleeting visit," she continues. "So there'll be no visit this time, I'm afraid."

"Another time maybe." Harry slides a package of daisy roots into the bag and rings the price into the till. "That's thirteen Sickles and three Knuts altogether."

The money's dropped into his outstretched hand with a beaming smile. "Absolutely. She's very disappointed to miss you. But they're working her very hard at St Mungo's." Mrs Morrison leans forward and continues in a confidential manner. "Too hard, if you ask me. She's only a trainee and they have her there all hours." She pauses then and gives a small shake of her head. "But what do I know about it? I'm just a silly old woman."

"Nonsense." It's a familiar game that Harry is well-versed in the art of. "You barely look old enough to have a daughter, never mind a _grand_ daughter."

Predictably this is followed by a flush and a giggle. "You're a born flatterer, Harry Potter. I can't think why some girl hasn't snapped you up already."

Choosing again to let it pass, Harry smiles and hands over the bag. And the smile stays in place until the door snicks shut behind her.

"Still charming your legion of adoring fans, I see, Harry."

Words that would have once produced a very different reaction now set Harry's stomach twisting in a not-unpleasant way. "Draco." Even after several years those syllables still feel strange on his tongue. "I didn't realise you were due in today."

It's a lie, of course. Neville had mentioned it the day before. Mentioned it with a gleam in his eyes similar to the one he'd had this morning at the sight of Harry's new jumper and smart trousers. Subtlety has never been Harry's strong point – although, he rather suspects that the drunken confession back in their eighth year makes all his attempts at subtlety more than a little redundant.

"This must come as a very pleasant surprise for you, then." Draco approaches the till, all lean limbs and stylish clothes. But it's his expression that gets Harry every time. A warm smile from Draco Malfoy was unheard of at one time, but in the six months that he's worked for _Verdigris_ , Harry has memorised every such occasion.

"My lucky day," Harry agrees, as he deposits the handful of money into the till.

"Even without the prospect of the lovely Martha visiting?" Draco leans forward, arms resting on the counter, and his mouth quirked in a teasing sort of smile that makes Harry want to kiss him very badly. He's imagining doing just that when it becomes apparent that Draco is waiting for an answer, and Harry has no idea what has been said.

"Sorry," he said, and tries for his best sheepish expression.

It's a sign of how far _he_ , or _they_ have come that Draco only gives a slight shake of his head. "Can't keep your head out of the clouds for five minutes. No wonder you used to drive Severus to distraction."

"Still do." Harry jerks one thumb in the direction of Draco's office. "Don't think I haven't heard that portrait muttering about me."

Draco laughs. "I imagine he's been somewhat irascible these last few weeks with no one to rant at. I can't think that you or Neville have been paying social calls."

"Unlikely," Harry agrees. Neville had balked at the barest suggestion, and Harry's been in too good of a mood latelty to allow the shade of an unhappy man spoil things. "I had to put up a Silencing Charm after the first few days. He was starting to scare the customers." The _and Neville_ is unsaid but implied nonetheless.

Draco laughs again, to Harry's relief. "I'd better go and calm him down." Draco pushes away from the counter with one last smile. "Let Neville know I'm here if you see him. I've got a new contract we need to discuss."

"Will do." Harry nods and then leans on the counter to enjoy Draco walking away.

"Don't you think it's about time you made a move?"

Harry startles. It's a sign of his interest in Draco's rear view that he hasn't heard Neville approach. "Huh?"

"Draco." Neville's been sounding progressively more exasperated every time the subject comes up lately. "Just ask him out."

Harry's never been very good at hiding his blushes, and now is no exception. But he's not going down without a fight. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"Of course you don’t." Neville stuffs his hands deep in his trouser pockets. "Just like it's a coincidence you coming in all dressed up today. Like you come in all dressed up every time you know he'll be here."

"I don't—"

"Just ask him out, Harry. What's the worst that can happen?"

"He could say no," Harry replies with brutal honesty. "Or laugh in my face."

Neville's expression softens. "He won't laugh. Draco's not that person anymore."

"I'm not sure the no would hurt any less," Harry admits, and something clenches painfully in his chest as if to bear out the truth of his words.

"Would it really be worse than this? Pining over someone who hasn't got a clue what's going on?"

"I don't know." And really Harry doesn't. It's a question that's caused a few sleepless nights already and he's no nearer to having an answer.

Neville's hand settles on his shoulder in a firm, sympathetic pat. "Work on it," he advises. "If I have to put up with much more mooning, I'm going to take Hermione's advice and lock the pair of you in the nearest store cupboard."

*~'~*

Harry's halfway through unloading a delivery of fertiliser – courtesy of Hagrid's Thestral herd – when Neville finds him. Or rather, when Neville almost trips over him. Because the view across the yard through Draco's office window has distracted Harry from the task at hand.

"Bloody hell!" Neville stumbles and clutches the full mugs in his hand for dear life. "What on earth are you doing?" He kicks an offending bag of fertiliser for good measure.

Harry lets go of his grip on Neville's arm now he's steady on both feet. "Sorry. Must have got side-tracked."

"Side-tracked?" Neville looks around, clearly searching for the cause of Harry's distraction. Harry can tell the moment he finds it because Neville's expression is a mixture of amusement and exasperation. "Honestly, it's like working with some love-sick teenager."

Before Harry can protest or deny, Neville thrusts one of the mugs at him. "Here, why don't you take this over to his nibs, and I'll finish off here before someone breaks their neck." True to his word, Neville deposits his own drink on the nearby counter and hoists the heavy sack over his shoulder – Harry is left alone, steaming mug in hand.`

Harry isn't particularly vain, but after a morning's manual labour he knows he must look a fright. And now Draco seems to be a permanent fixture once again, Harry's work wear has had to return to the more practical of his clothes out of necessity. He is wearing the jeans that Hermione said made his arse look good, though, so with a deep breath he heads across the yard.

There are voices audible as he approaches that fall silent as he enters. After the Silencing Charm incident, Professor Snape's portrait has steadfastly refused to acknowledge Harry's existence. It's not necessarily a bad thing.

Draco looks up and smiles. _His_ work wear is still very much on the smart side of the spectrum – Harry is a big fan of those tailored trousers. "Is that for me?"

Harry nods. "Thought you might be ready for a cuppa," he says cheerfully, taking all of Neville's credit.

"You're a life saver." Draco reaches out and takes the mug, wrapping long, slender fingers around the warm china. "My mouth's almost as dry as Severus's sense of humour."

There's a huff from the portrait but nothing further.

"Still sulking then?" Harry can't resist a little jab.

Draco's loyalty apparently prevents him from agreeing, but his smile is as good as. He follows it up with a sip of his tea and a sigh of satisfaction. "Perfect. This is worth coming back to work for alone. The elves at the Manor still can't make a decent cup of tea, even now."

Something wriggles delightedly in Harry's stomach, but he's too busy hiding his dirty hands behind his back to pay it much heed. "So, you think you're back at work for good now?" Harry really hopes so. He likes working for Neville, but there's one obvious reason why he'd taken this job.

Draco sips his tea again before humming in acknowledgment. "It looks that way. Mother doesn't really need me now – her treatment is all but finished."

"How's she doing?" Harry struck up a strange kind of friendship with Narcissa Malfoy after the war, something he can only hope to achieve with Draco.

Draco's face brightens as the topic takes this turn – no one who knew him would doubt his love for his family. "She'll be back on form in no time. You should visit," he says. "She gets lonely sometimes, cooped up with only the elves for company. And I believe she'd like to see you."

Harry wonders if she'd be quite so keen if she knew of his designs on her son, but as he can't manage to tell Draco about them, the chances of his mother finding out are somewhat remote. So he nods and smiles and says, "That would be nice. Maybe I should owl her?"

"Best to," Draco agrees. "She might be sick, but she'll still want notice so she can receive you properly." 

Harry smiles again – he can well imagine this is the case. He's learnt a fair amount of pureblood customs during this unexpected acquaintance. "It must be a relief for you," he says. "Having her well again."

"You have no idea." There's an awkward moment's pause then, where they both realise the potential implication of Draco's words. "I didn't mean…" he starts, more than a little flustered. "I just—"

"It's okay. I know you didn't." And Harry does. Once upon a time it would have been very different, but they've both grown up since then. "Don't worry about it."

Draco places his cup on the desk's surface but manages to topple a stack of papers in his haste. "Bugger," he exclaims, crouching down to gather them up.

Harry thinks for a moment of going to help, but even his short time of working with Draco has taught him that Draco has a very particular way of doing things, and that any assistance he could offer would likely be wrong. So instead, he takes a moment to unashamedly admire the way those tailored trousers stretch tautly over Draco's thighs and buttocks.

A strangled sort of choking-noise from nearby reminds him he's not alone though, and as Harry turns to the right, he confronted with a look of horror on his old professor's face. Mortified in turn, Draco is barely back on his feet before Harry's is muttering his excuses and hurrying off in search of a corner to curl up and die in.

*~'~*

"You have no idea how good it feels to get out, Harry."

Ron nods his agreement at Hermione's words, but his mouth is far too full of food for speech. For his part, Harry is just glad of the opportunity to catch up with his friends. He adores his goddaughter, but since Rose's birth, their time together has been seriously curtailed.

"Oh, I don't know," he says, trailing one finger down the stem of his wine glass. "It's not like I have the most active of social lives either."

Hermione's look over the top of her own glass is meaningful and Harry could kick himself for the opening he has just given her.

"There's a very simple way to change that," she says, all smiles and hidden meanings.

"Haven't you asked him out yet?" Ron asks. Or at least, Harry thinks he does – it's hard to tell around a mouthful of steak and kidney.

"No, Ron, he hasn't. And swallow before speaking, will you?" Hermione rolls her eyes and returns her focus to Harry. "Neville tells me he's back at work full time now."

"Does he?" Harry isn't sure when it started, but Neville is turning into as a big a meddler as Hermione ever was.

"Says you moon over him like a love sick puppy." Ron looks like the words alone make him feel ill, and Harry makes a mental note to have a chat with Neville on Monday.

"I don't know why you don't ask him," Hermione persists. "I think you might be surprised with his answer."

"I'm glad you think that, Hermione, but after he says no I still have to work for him, and I'd rather avoid that particular humiliation if you don't mind."

Ron swallows hard and is clearly gearing up to speak, but the sudden appearance of Neville with Draco in tow rather puts an end to the conversation.

Harry isn't sure if he wants to kiss or kill Hermione when she invites them to join their table, but when Draco's squeezes a chair in at his side, their knees knocking occasionally, Harry's mind is made up. Hermione's getting flowers tomorrow.

The conversation flows surprisingly freely, and Harry is pretty sure that their past selves would be gobsmacked at the sight of them chatting like old friends. OF course, most of them _are >_ old friends, but the addition of Draco to the group is very definitely a change. And a very welcome one, to Harry's mind.

Neville makes his excuses after a short while and goes to relieve a very grateful Hannah from behind the bar. Harry tries his hardest not to stare wistfully at the tender kiss they share. 

"So, Draco, are you seeing anyone right now?"

Harry almost chokes on his tongue when he hears this, and if she weren't out of reach, he would be kicking Hermione right now. Draco doesn't seem particularly phased though.

"Not at the moment," he says, and then gives a wry grin. 2I just can't seem to find the right man."

Hermione gives Harry a non-too-subtle glance, and even Ron is glaring. Draco, thankfully, remains oblivious. 

"You don't know how lucky you two are, right, Harry?"

Harry nods, speech eluding him. He takes a sip of wine to hide his selective mutism.

Hermione gives Ron the kind of smile that makes Harry terribly happy for his friends and achingly jealous all at the same time.

"oh, we know," she says. "Especially now we have Rose." Hermione turns then and glances at the clock on the wall. "Speaking of which, we really should get going and relieve the babysitter."

Harry can't be sure if it is a genuine reason or just the last in a long line of efforts to throw him and Draco together. Either way, his stomach is twisting in knots. Before he's had the chance to work out which it is, Ron has bolted the rest of his food and they're on their feet.

"Don't get up," Hermione says, as both Harry and Draco move to do so. "Harry, we'll get the bill on the way out. It's our turn. And, Draco, it's been lovely to catch up with you. We should do this again."

That's definitely meddling this time, Harry has no doubt. But Draco is nodding in agreement, and the prospect of more time with him makes Harry feel rather benevolent towards his friends.

"Well," Draco says after there's just the two of them left. "Was it something I said?!

Harry glances first at the empty chairs surrounding them, and then at Draco's amused face. He can't help but smile. "I wouldn’t take it personally," he says. "It's just—Oh shit!"

"What is it?" Draco sounds concerned, but Harry can't tell for certain as his gaze is currently fixed on the table top.

"Mrs Morrison," Harry mutters, kicking himself for no longer carrying his Cloak everywhere he goes.

Draco definitely laughs a little, the bastard, and obviously turns to look. "Is that the lovely Martha with her?" He sounds endlessly amused by the whole situation and all Harry can do is groan.

"It's not funny. I think she actually believes her granddaughter can turn me."

"Well, we can't have that, can we?" 

Something in Draco's tone makes Harry look up. Which he regrets instantly as he can see Mrs Morrison approaching out of the corner of his eye.

"Just look into my eyes," Draco says. But as he takes hold of Harry's hand at that point, it's all Harry can do to breathe.

"What are you doing?" Harry manages after a moment. His gaze is transfixed by the sight of their clasped hands on the table's surface.

"Seeing if we can help your Mrs Morrison understand where your preferences lie."

For a moment Harry's heart almost stops, but then he realises Draco means men in general, rather than himself. But Harry's face is obviously frozen in some expression of horror because Draco kicks him under the table and hisses, "Smile, for Merlin's sake. I realise I'm not your first choice of date, but you can at least pretend."

_If only you knew_ , Harry thinks as he schools his face into a more appropriate look. It does the trick too, because he can see Martha heading her grandmother off and diverting towards the bar. He lets out a breath he hadn't realised he was holding. Draco realises Harry's hand and leans back in his chair, smile a touch smug.

"I shall expect biscuits with my tea tomorrow now. Chocolate ones."

*~'~*

"Do me a favour, Harry, will you?"

Harry straightens up from his crouch under the workbench and dusts off dirty knees. Neville's arms are laden with trays of seedlings, cradled carefully as if they were his first born. The load made all the more precarious by the large sheaf of papers tucked under one arm. "Want me to take those off you?" Harry asks, already reaching out for the top few trays.

"Not those." Neville gives a short shake of his head. "But can you take grab these invoices and drop them on Draco's desk for me? I think he's gearing up for our annual _you spend too much, Neville_ conversation and I want to be prepared.

Harry grins at this and eases the bundle from under Neville's arm. He hasn't worked here long enough to witness one before, but he's heard enough about them to know Draco is onto a loser before he even starts. Neville doesn’t cut corners, not where his plants are concerned.

"I'll be in the end greenhouse," Neville says. "If you need me for anything. But Draco should be in soon so I imagine he'll be able to see to any of your needs."

"You're not funny, you know." Harry pokes out his tongue at Neville's retreating back – he can't see it, but it makes Harry feel better all the same.

"And _you're_ not fooling anyone," Neville replies without pause. "Ask him out!"

It's a phrase Harry hears on an irritatingly regular basis now, and the more often Neville uses it – and at increasingly loud volumes – the more Harry panics that Draco will hear. Thankfully he's not arrived yet this morning, so doesn't hear Neville's bellow from halfway down the greenhouse.

"Bugger off," Harry mutters under his breath, willing the almost ever-present flush to fade from his cheeks. He stalks across the yard, papers in hand, and lets himself into Draco's office. He places the invoices down on the desk and doesn't mean to linger, but Draco's scent lingers even after he is gone, and Harry can't help take a moment to drink it in.

"I never thought I'd find myself agreeing with that buffoon, Longbottom. But for the sake of all our sanity, would you do something about this embarrassing crush you have on my godson."

Harry startles, steps backwards, and almost trips over the rug. _The bloody portrait gets him every time_. He's too stunned to even attempt a denial – besides, Snape has caught him in the act on several occasions, so it really would be pointless. "You want me to ask Draco out?" he asks, more than a little dazed by the bizarreness of the conversation.

Snape lets out a familiar dismissive snort. "Want? I should think not. Were I to pick the ideal mate for Draco, you would hardly feature on the list." He folds his arms across his chest and fixes a beady stare on Harry. "But the choice is not mine, and Draco has spent enough years living according to others desires."

Harry perches on the edge of the desk, his fingers gripping the wood tightly for balance. "But he doesn't want me, so it doesn't matter."

Snape's gaze narrows in a way that transports Harry right back to Potions class. "Neither you nor I know that to be the case. Draco has a right to know and to make the choice for himself. Whatever that may be.

"Are you giving me…?" Harry can't believe he's actually about to say the words. "Your _blessing_ "

"I'm doing nothing of the sort." His brows draw together in a dark scowl as he speaks. "Don't be asinine, Potter."

Harry is too far into the bizarre for this to faze him. "But you said—"

"Look, I will acknowledge that I may have judged you harshly over the years. Only _may_ ," Snape adds quickly. "You are not your father, and I acknowledge that now."

Harry's starting to wonder whether he's accidently ingested some of Neville's _special_ plants in his morning tea, because there's no other possible explanation for the way this conversation is going. The silly grin now plastered on his face is a further sign that something isn't quite right.

It's an opinion apparently shared by Draco as he opens the door and takes in the unusual scene before him.

"Don't stand there gaping, boy. Come in and close the damn door."

Draco does as he's bid but his brow is still creased with confusion. "What…?"

"Don't ask me." Harry shrugs, because he's honestly just as baffled himself.

"Honestly, you two are just as ridiculous as you were in school. There is nothing strange going on, Draco. Mr Potter and I have simply reached an understating. That is all."

Draco looks between the two of them for a moment longer before the confusion makes way for a smile. "Well, that was top of the list of _things I never thought I'd hear_." He takes a few steps further into the room before adding, "This must be the day for miracles; Mother has been given the all clear."

His smile is so bright, so wonderfully happy, that Harry completely forgets himself. "Oh, Draco, that's wonderful news." And with that, Harry tugs him into a bone crushing hug.

It's only the sight of Professor Snape's sardonic gaze over Draco's shoulder that reminds him of where he is, and _what the hell he's doing_. Instantly mortified, Harry pulls away. He barely pauses to stammer his excuses before fleeing the scene, cheeks aflame.

"Is he quite all right?" he hears Draco ask as the door closes behind.

"Has he ever been?" Snape replies, and Harry finds himself in agreement for the second time that day.

*~'~*

"I don't know why you're asking me that." Neville leans back in his armchair and levels Harry with a serious expression. "You know what I think about it."

" _Ask him out_." Harry repeats the phrase that is fast becoming the tag line of his life.

"Exactly."

"It's not that easy though." Harry leans forward, elbows on knees and chin in hands.

"It's only words, Harry. You just have to say them."

"Like you did with Hannah?" Harry straightens up, ready to turn the tables on his friend. "How long did it take you to ask her out?"

"Two years." The woman in question enters the room at the perfect time. "Don't take any notice of him, Harry. You'll say something when you're ready."

Harry looks from Neville to his wife and back again. "Is there anyone who _doesn't_ know?"

"Draco," Neville replies with a hearty laugh. 

"I'm glad my misery amuses you."

Neville sobers slightly. "All I'm saying is ask him. You might be surprised the answer."

"I doubt it." Harry's tone turns glum. "We don't really know each other, and I make a complete fool of myself whenever he's around." He pauses here and rakes one hand through his eternally tousled hair. "If I spill one more drink on his desk, he'll be demanding you fire me."

"I doubt that," Neville says, a soft smile tugging the corners of his mouth. "Not when it was his idea to hire you in the first place."

Harry stills instantly and his stomach lurches in an alarming fashion. "What?"

"I wasn't supposed to tell you that." Neville looks a little sheepish now. "I don't think he likes people to know he has a heart."

"I can't believe you didn't tell me." Harry's mind is racing with the possible implications of this news, and he has to fight the very real urge to shake Neville hard and demand to know what it all means. He still has enough rein on his senses to know this would be a bad idea.

"He asked me not to," Neville says simply, like it's okay that he kept this huge, life-altering secret from Harry all this time.

"So why are you telling me now?" Harry demands.

Neville shrugs. "I don't know."

"Neville!"

"Okay, fine. I told you because it was the right thing to do. Because you like him, and _I think_ that he likes you, only you're both to stupid or oblivious, or just too damn stubborn to do anything about it." He pauses here and turns to smile at Hannah before continuing. "And because I know what it's like to love someone and to be scared of rejection. But I also know how wonderful it can be if you just take the risk." 

Neville reaches out and takes hold of his wife's hand, his eyes only for her in that moment. The look that passes between them is another of the type that makes Harry's chest hurt in ways both good and bad.

"Just take the risk, Harry," Neville repeats softly.

He's making a good point, Harry knows that. He's seen what happens when people take that leap of faith – Neville and Hannah, Ron and Hermione. Hell, even him and Ginny had been good, once upon a time. But somewhere along the line Harry has become afraid, he's become far more concerned about consequences then he ever was before. And while it's probably the sensible option, he knows, painfully well, that' it's holding him back.

*~'~*

Harry may not have summoned up his long lost courage yet, but he still takes Draco his mid-morning cup of tea, and he likes to think that with every passing interaction they are inching ever closer to the day when he finally 'man's up' as Ron likes to call it. He's even taken Draco's earlier teasing to heart and the tea is always accompanied now by a couple of the finest chocolate biscuits that Harry's local Tesco has to offer.

Today's biscuits have chocolate _and_ caramel, which Harry hopes will be enough to pull Draco's head out of the books he's been buried in all morning. It's accounts time and Draco trusts no one else with the company's books.

 

But as Harry approaches it becomes apparent that someone has already managed that task, because he can hear voices within the office. Assuming it to be Neville, Harry gives his usual cursory knock and enters. Now, either Neville has changed quite drastically in the last half an hour since Harry saw him, or it is, in fact, Blaise Zabini who is occupying a part of Draco's day that Harry guards jealously.

"Come on, Draco," Blaise is saying as Harry enters. "You have to come. Pansy will go on about it for weeks if you don't."

Draco flashes a quick smile at Harry before addressing his friend. "You know I hate those godforsaken affairs. They're full of people I can't stand and who can stand me even less. Outside of you, Pansy, and possibly Theo, there's not one person there that I care to see."

"Then come for us," Blaise says. Then adds, "Ooh, biscuits." He snags one of the chocolaty numbers without further ado and is soon munching happily. "These are good, Potter," he says, finally acknowledging Harry's presence. 

"Pansy only wants me there so she can try to fix me up with that dreadful cousin of hers again." Draco makes a grab for the remaining biscuit when Blaise's eyes wander in its direction.

"Then bring a date," Blaise says, like it's something incredibly simple, and not at all designed to make Harry's head explode with potential jealous rage.

Draco's laugh is a little bitter and gives Harry pause then. But not as much as his next words do. "I don't know if you haven't noticed, Blaise, but they aren't exactly queuing at my door." Draco pauses then and takes a sip of his tea. "I think it's the lovely tattoo on my arm that's putting them off."

Harry knows he's going for humour and sarcasm, but there's an underlying current of sadness that makes his heart ache for Draco. But though he'd like to linger and learn more, his stay is already edging towards awkward, so he turns to leave, most reluctantly.

"Nonsense." Blaise snorts, dismissively, in a way that makes Harry wonder if Snape gave lessons. "Why don't you bring Potter? He's gay. You are gay, right?"

Certain his cheeks are as red as can be, and wishing he'd made his exit just a few seconds earlier, Harry turns slowly.

"Of course he is," Draco replies sharply, saving Harry the mortification of a response. The bloody _Prophet_ had a six-page supplement when he came out."

Blaise's laugh is deep and hearty. "There you are then. You'd make a lovely pair. Plus, imagine the tongues it would set wagging."

Draco shakes his head and appears so instantly dismissive of the idea that Harry's heart starts to sink. "Don't be ridiculous. I'm sure Harry has better things to do than spend an evening making nice with stuck-up purebloods who probably wanted him dead ten years ago."

Harry feels like he really should say something to this, but it's all he can do right now not to swallow his own tongue. So he gives a weak smile and gestures towards the door, hoping Draco will understand. The smile he gets in return is sympathetic.

"Pay no heed to Blaise, Harry. None of us do."

Harry's smile feels like it is stuck to his face. "I'd better get back," he says finally. And with a quick nod in Blaise's general direction, he scurries out of the room.

When Blaise finally leaves around ten minutes later, Harry is still resisting the urge to bang his head against the nearest hard surface. Blaise walks close by the counter and snags another biscuit from the packet Harry is burying his problems in.

"There's only so much help people can give you, Potter," Blaise says, as his fingers delve in the packet for seconds. "Sooner or later you'll actually have to grow a pair and ask him out."

*~'~*

The party never gets mentioned again, but Harry can't shake the feeling he's wasted the best chance he's ever likely to get. And wonders, if he's that much of an idiot, does he really deserve Draco?

They carry on like before, although Draco does encourage Harry to take tea with him now, but Harry doesn't need the mark on his calendar to remind him of the event. And the evening in question finds him moping around Grimmauld Place, torturing himself with speculation of just who Draco's date for the evening might be.

The doorbell comes as something of a surprise. His friends know to Floo first, and there are scant other people who would announce a visit, much less turn up uninvited. Unsure if he's relieved or irritated that the evening's wallowing has been interrupted, Harry makes his way to the door.

The sight of Draco on his door step, all dressed up in his finest, seems to wipe the ability to speak or move from Harry's conscious brain. Fortunately, Draco has never been backward in coming forward.

"The party was a frightful bore," he says, crossing the threshold.

Harry steps to the side and gestures him in – it's all he can manage right now – then watches as Draco sheds his cloak. The sight of his even-tighter-than-usual black trousers Obliviate that last trace of rational thought from Harry's brain. His hands tremble slightly as he closes the door.

"Blaise was right," Draco continues. "It would have been much more fun if I'd have taken you with me."

"Oh," Harry says, though it comes out as more of a croak. Something has shifted between them and he has no idea what. Although the crazy fluttering in his stomach seems to have some suggestions on the matter. With an idea of being polite, he gestures towards the living room, and follows in Draco's footsteps, consciously keeping his eyes up high.

That's possibly why he doesn't see it coming until long after it has happened.

As he pushes the door closed behind them, Harry finds himself suddenly pressed back against its hard surface. Draco's arms bracket his shoulders, and before Harry can voice any kind of protest – although, really, that was never very likely – Draco's lips are on his.

He's still for a moment. In shock. But it's only seconds before Harry's instincts kick in. His lips slide, warm and slick, against Draco's, and there's a thrill down his spine at the first flicker of tongue. He savours the taste of Draco for a moment, before the tang of Firewhiskey hits him. It takes all of his willpower to pull away, but he has to know.

"Are you drunk?" he asks hoarsely, not entirely sure what his response will be to a _yes_.

Draco's lips curve into a warm smile. "No," he says, leaning in close again. "But I am fed up of waiting for you to make a move."

Harry barely manages to get a stunned, "What?" out before Draco's lips are on his again, warm and soft, and promising so much more.

"I thought Gryffindors were supposed to be the brave ones?"

Harry makes a noise of displeasure when Draco pulls back, even if it is the shortest of distances. And he settles his hands firmly on Draco's hips, determined he will go no further. "Well," he murmurs, nosing his way along Draco's jaw. "The hat did want to put me in Slytherin."

"A snake?" Draco says, lips so near to Harry's skin that his breath causes shivers. "How interesting."

Harry turns his head then and meets Draco's gaze full on. The truth is pretty obvious now, but there's a part of him that just needs to hear it. "Does this mean that you—"

"What do you think?" Draco presses the length of his body up close against Harry's, making his point perfectly clear.

"I'm not sure I _can_ think while you're doing that," Harry says, trying his best to keep upright.

Draco huffs a laugh against' Harry's skin, and nips it for good measure. "That was the plan."

Harry lets his head fall back against the door and surrenders his neck to Draco's attentions. He's not sure which one of their meddling friends he has to thank for this, but someone is certainly getting flowers before the week is out!

The End 

Maybe


End file.
